


I'm In Your Possession

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Barebacking, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Collars, Comeplay, Comfort, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-21 23:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2486945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel didn't want him to speak. Castiel wanted him to <i>obey.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm In Your Possession

The first time Castiel asked him to don the black strip of leather, he promptly told him to ‘fuck off back to Angel-land’ and subsequently ended up alone for the following two weeks. He didn't know where the Angel had gotten the idea in the first place, like putting it on would help anything having to do with the rage festering beneath his skin. What did Castiel expect, for him to just bend to his every whim whenever the situation called for it? He wasn’t about to be a marionette to some celestial force. Again.

It was forced upon him the second time after he put his fist through the wall of a shabby motel, coming away bloodied and dusted with sheetrock. Castiel approached him in his tirade and hooked the strap around his neck, pulling him away and to the bed before shoving him into the rumpled sheets. He refused to acknowledge it at first, continuing to mouth off at the Angel standing before him, each time earning a finger to his lips. Every time he spoke or made a motion to, that digit silenced him until he got the point.

Castiel didn't want him to speak. Castiel wanted him to _obey_. To give up his charade and relinquish control while the collar was attached, to let himself be someone else. To forget hunting, forget the death that awaited him around every corner, forget _everything_ except the Angel before him. He spent that night with Castiel on the left side of the bed, calm hands gracing the bare expanse of his torso, tracing over where the handprint used to be, a reminder of times gone by.

Admittedly, it was the best sleep of his life. Uninterrupted by quiet dreams or nightmares that threw him unceremoniously into consciousness, all under the watchful eye of the being he was loathe to admit he _liked_ , even with his unnecessary eye contact and lingering touches. They already had the ‘personal space’ talk – neither of them bothered to abide by their own rules.

The third time, Sam had locked himself in his room at the bunker just hours before, probably crashing the minute he hit the bed. Their last hunt had been more draining than either of them anticipating, leaving them to nurse more internalized wounds than the physical. Castiel had been of no help, of course – where the guy had miraculously disappeared to, he didn't know. Nor cared, really. He could get along just fine. He didn't _need_ Castiel. _I don’t._

Except he did. And the Angel at the foot of his bed knew it as well, that accursed collar dangling from between two fingers, held out for him to choose. If he declined, Castiel would either leave or roam the bunker until morning came. If he accepted… An anticipatory shiver ran through him at the thought. Sitting at the head of his bed, Dean nodded for Castiel to join him, pressing bare feet into the sheets as he sat up straighter, waiting.

Castiel joined him without a word between parted legs, reaching up to secure the clasp around the back of his neck, placing the spiked collar just where he wanted it. Whether it stayed that way was another matter. “For tonight, you’ll do whatever I say. If you don’t like something, you tell me to stop.” He tugged at the leather. Dean nodded, exhaling a shuddering breath. “What’s your safeword?”

He said the first thing that came to mind. “Blue.”

Castiel cocked an eyebrow, but otherwise gave no reply. “I’d like for you to strip. Then lay back, wrists crossed above your head."

The more logical part of him wanted nothing more than to shove Castiel away and tell him to get his rocks off somewhere else. That part of his brain was in the process of fleeing the scene, leaving the more debase of his faculties in charge for the time being. Ridding himself of the blood-spattered shirt, he unbuckled his belt and slid it free from the loops, tossing both articles to the side. Castiel watched him undo his fly, enrapt in the process, never once touching without permission. He could do this for Castiel – more than once, if it worked out in the end.

Clothes thrown to the wayside, Dean lowered his bare form to the middle of the bed, Castiel refusing to move until his arms were in place. Embarrassment flushed from neck to chest under the Angel’s careful surveillance, fingertips dragging up the inside of his legs, thighs, carefully skirting whatever flesh was in reach before settling on his hips. At some point, he had begun to shake. “Breathe,” he spoke, and Dean did, releasing the breath he hadn’t registered he was holding. “Good.” A kiss to his naval. “I understand you’re not used to this situation, but I have no intentions of making you feel uncomfortable.”

He wiggled a bit under the ministrations, the sensation of the tail of Castiel’s coat dragging across his legs offsetting the gentleness of his hands. “Fair enough,” he muttered, voice barely carrying in the short distance between them.

Again, that finger touched his lips; he kissed the digit without thinking. “Don’t speak.” He didn’t. He let his head fall back onto the pillow while Castiel crawled up to straddle his waist, the swish of his tie coming undone forcing an involuntary whimper from his throat. The Angel paid it no mind, instead occupying himself with tying his wrists above his head, leaving just barely enough give to where he could free himself if he wanted. Castiel wanted this, though – he didn't have the heart to refuse him, not again. The collar was enough to signify that.

He watched Castiel lift off the bed after, shedding that ever-present coat and folding it atop the desk in the corner. In daily proceedings, the Angel was meticulous in whatever he did; whatever case they were working at the time was carried out with the utmost scrutiny and care, ensuring both the safety of him and his brother, and himself as an afterthought. He carried over the same procedural attention in removing his own clothing, piling each piece on top of the other until nothing was left to the imagination. Not that Dean hadn’t thought about seeing him naked before; in his waking hours, he would never admit to it. Castiel knew, though. He always knew, and never spoke a word.

To his right, the memory foam dipped under the weight of its new attendant, Castiel motioning himself to sit at Dean’s side once again. “Turn over.” Castiel didn’t even bother to _help_ , leaving him to roll over on his own, managing to get his arms underneath him and leaving him on all fours until the Angel pushed his chest into the bedding. A beat of silence passed through the room, broken only by Dean’s soft murmuring as the Angel ran his hands down his back, caressing his sides. “Do you have any—?”

Dean motioned his head towards the duffle in the corner. He hadn’t gotten around to unpacking yet; that would be a job for tomorrow, if Sam didn't find another case before then. The warmth of Castiel’s touch left him briefly, and he chose to bury his face in the pillow nearest his head while his friend rummaged his bag, coming back with the bottle of lube he desperately needed to replace, setting it by Dean’s leg. His current dry spell was about to send him up a _wall_. Running around from bar to bar was getting to be counterproductive as of late; out of everyone he ran into, everyone he scouted, no one could compare to the thing he had right in front of him, the _Angel_ that stubbornly stuck to his side, no matter the consequence.

Said Angel was currently preoccupied with palming his _ass_ , lips placing obscene kisses to each cheek while practiced fingers teased his rim, never quite letting up pressure. Where he learned _that_ , he didn't want to know. Instead, he choked back his whimper when he felt those lips press against his hole, tongue just _barely_ getting involved. “Don’t speak or move until I tell you to. Do you understand?” His nod didn't appear to suffice. “You can answer, Dean.”

“…Yeah.”

“Yes, _what_?”

Oh _god_ , so that was how it was going to be. His face flushed bright red. “Y-Yes, sir.”

No force on earth, not even an _Angel_ could have stopped the noise that he made when Castiel licked a long stripe across his rim, the resulting slap to his thigh drawing out a yelp. “I’ll let that one slide. Remember what I said, _boy_.”

The enthusiasm that Castiel poured into whatever he was doing, namely with his tongue, knew no bounds; he knew exactly where and how to touch and for how long, how much pressure he needed to place with his hands to keep him grounded, reminding him of his place. Disobeying would only make it stop; knowing the Angel, he would probably fly off to wherever and leave him to take care of himself. Or make him _wait_ – he didn't know which was worse.

One hand moved to run the length of his spine, settling fraying nerves, the touch allowing him to relax. He hadn’t realized how tense he was, more concentrated with his struggle to remain still than to _feel_. This was what Castiel wanted – he didn't want him to just lay there and take whatever he gave, he wanted him to _accept_ it, to believe he deserved the attention, the unbridled adoration.

He wasn't like all the others – Castiel wasn't doing it to solely get him off, in what probably would be record time if he weren’t holding himself back. No, this was about getting him to forget the fresh wounds that littered his body, the pain associated with living day to day with the weight of the world on his shoulders. To give himself over to someone that genuinely _cared_ for him, or at least he hoped so. The idea of Castiel deliberately ordering him around just to toy with him left an uncomfortable weight in his stomach.

“You’re doing so good, Dean.” Castiel abandoned his task and pressed a wet kiss to his spine. “Haven’t moved an inch, even when you’re so hard. You’re _dripping_.” To prove his point, Castiel touched the head of his dick, ever so lightly, enough of a tease to have him considering breaking orders and bucking into his hand. “You’re ruining your sheets, Dean. What should we do about that?”

Was he supposed to answer? He bit back a reply, a shameless flush spreading across his skin at the feeling of Castiel’s hands on him once again, moving to palm his ass, spreading his cheeks. “So eager.” He thumbed his rim, pushing the digit in minutely; he barely restrained a whimper, burying his face in the pillow to hide his shame. “You’re beautiful, Dean, every part of you.”

His knees nearly gave out as Castiel’s tongue darted in alongside his thumb – _keep still, Winchester, don’t move_! His hips had another idea, the twitch he gave obviously amusing the Angel more than it should have. “You can make as much noise as you like.”

Oh thank _God_. He moaned loud into his pillow at the feeling of a spit-slick finger slipping inside with his tongue, taunting, pressing against the bundle of nerves that had him begging in seconds. To speak, to move, to _come_ , he didn't know which he wanted more. In either case, Castiel refused to oblige him. “You’ll wake up your brother, Dean, do you want that?” He felt him _smirk_ , fingers rubbing his prostate harder, harder, just to hear him whine. “You want him to hear how wanton you are? I should gag you.” Castiel pulled away, removing his fingers and rubbing them against his rim, sloppy wet with saliva, twitching with the need to be filled again. “That way, I can be the only one to hear your voice.”

 _Fuck_. Castiel needed to stop talking, and _now_. Those hands were on him again, smoothing up his back and stopping at his shoulders, pulling him up to rest on his shins. “Such a good boy, Dean,” he whispered into his ear, nipping at the collar around his neck. “I know what you did today wasn't the easiest of situations. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there to aid you. I know you’re hurting here,” he put his hand over Dean’s heart, skimming down to tease a nipple between two fingers. “You do so much, and never expect anything in return. Money,” a kiss to his nape, “recognition,” to the ear, “admiration,” the collar, again, “or love.” Castiel kissed his lips, the innocence of it contrasting the intent hidden there. “Let me show you your worth.”

He closed his eyes; he couldn't bear to see the look reflected on Castiel’s face, like he _meant_ something. “You don’t believe me, do you?” Dean turned his face away. “Your hands have done atrocious things, but what you’ve done doesn't make you what you are.” Castiel covered his hands with his own for emphasis. “You’re wonderful, Dean. Your soul is the brightest I’ve ever had the pleasure to see. You have compassion for those you’ve never met, you care deeper than you should about their survival.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

Part of him wanted to safeword out, to get away from Castiel, to go hide in the library or _anywhere_ else, blue balls be damned. The Angel’s touch had him considering otherwise – if he didn't deserve it, Castiel wouldn't have stayed, would have left him for Heaven years ago. He never would have raised him from Hell if he didn't care in the least bit.

Maybe he could do this. If not for himself, then for Castiel. “Please.”

Castiel tugged the collar, enough to put pressure on his windpipe. “What was that?”

“Don’t make me say it, Cas.” He leaned into the weight of the leather, drawing a gasp from himself. “…S-Show me. _Sir_.”

The bite he received to his neck was uncalled for; the thrill it sent down his spine, though, that was _more_ than enough to get him going again. Castiel crawled to the head of the bed and leaned back against the wall, knees open, inviting. Between his legs, his cock curled up his belly, heavy and red, leaking precum from the tip – because of _him_. Castiel was hard because of _him_. With one finger, Castiel beckoned him forward, taking his bound wrists in hand and undoing the knot of his tie, only to loop it around his eyes. “Suck me off,” he ordered close to his ear, sucking the lobe briefly. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

He didn't – despite his newfound lack of sight, Dean mapped his way down with his mouth, leaving a string of kisses across the heated skin of the Angel, laving his nipples with special attention before lowering himself fully into Castiel’s lap. His only qualm was that he _couldn't_ see what he was doing, the effect he was having on the being before him, mewling at the first lick, teasing the slit of his cock just to hear what noise he would – and _could_ – make.

For someone so in control of the scene, Castiel was more vocal than he anticipated. Dean licked a wet stripe up his cock, one hand splayed on the sharp jut of hipbone he found, rubbing, the other wrapped around his thigh, drawing him closer. If only he could have seen his face the second he took his cockhead between his lips; the crack of the wall behind them was enough to let him know Castiel had thrown his head back. More than enough to spur him on, giving him one last lick before he took him in as far as he could without gagging.

It had been too long since he had done this for someone that didn't involve being cramped up in a bathroom stall or some back alley in the middle of nowhere. Here, he could make himself comfortable and concentrate without exterior interruptions, giving his sole attention to his partner. A hand glided over his shoulders absently, moving in time with the clipped moans he heard, kneading whatever skin he touched. The other hand was occupied elsewhere; he paid no mind, more enrapt with the feeling of how thick the Angel was in his mouth and the heady taste of precum on his tongue. He could get drunk off it – he should have accepted the Angel’s offer the _first_ time he asked. Or years ago, now that he thought about it. Back when he first realized.

The finger pressing insistently against his hole was new, for the situation, at least. Previous partners were too preoccupied with his mouth to care if he got anything out of it. Castiel was different – involuntarily he moaned around his length, Castiel’s lube-slick finger sliding between his cheeks teasingly, slipping _inside_ just enough to catch him off guard. He could bet he was _smirking_ at him, the _bastard_. “Such a pretty mouth, Dean. You should see yourself.”

His technique was something he prided himself on – said technique went out the window with Castiel’s fingers toying away, two now, hips rocking in time with each thrust. A hand held his head in place, never quite letting him up far enough to let Castiel’s cock slip free, always within reach in some way. His own bobbed against his stomach with every push of fingers, aching for any form of touch, any source of friction. Rutting against the bed wouldn't do; he had a feeling if he tried, Castiel would pull away. “You’re greedy,” Castiel murmured, voice sounding every bit of the wreck he expected him to be. “Look at you, begging for someone to fill you up. I could leave you like this, you know—.” His sentence ended with a choked moan, Dean shutting him up with a deep pull, pushing past his gag reflex just barely, swallowing around Castiel’s cockhead. “— _Dean_. I’m _talking_ to you.”

 _Not for long_. On the upstroke, he licked at the precum beading over, rolling it on his tongue; Castiel’s whimper had his cock twitching in sympathy. “Get on your stomach. _Now_.”

He couldn't say no to _that_ tone. He followed the command and moved to face the foot of the bed, ass in the air, hands buried in the blankets. Those same fingers breeched him without preamble, three stretching him with intent, faster now, leaving him moaning into the bedspread. “Teasing won’t end well for you, will it?” Castiel hissed, free hand gripping his hip hard enough to leave bruises. Hopefully he would leave them as a souvenir. “Your desperate for this, for me. How long have you wanted this? You can answer.”

But he didn't _want_ to. His face heated with his admission, “a long time, sir.”

The thumb to his perineum nearly had him jerking away – _too much_. “And why didn’t you tell me?”

“’m scared.” For once, he thanked the blindfold for his loss of sight. “Scared of losing you. Scared you’d leave.”

He mourned the loss of his fingers for a split second, secretly relishing in the feeling of Castiel’s cockhead pushing into him in replacement, just barely, more of a taunt than anything. “I wouldn’t leave you. Not for that. Not for _anything_.”

His moan would have been enough to wake Sam if it weren’t for Castiel’s hand over his mouth, hushing him as he bottomed out in one long stroke. The Angel wasted no time in getting to work, lowering himself over Dean’s body, one arm around his shoulders, the other his belly, fingers just barely touching his cock, dripping profusely into the sheets. He should have been gagged, in retrospect; it would have at least smothered the sounds spewing forth, moans coming in ragged pants, Castiel right along with him, barely suppressing his own.

Still, he was unsure if he could talk, if begging crossed the line of Castiel’s instructions. He opted not to, replying to each thrust to his prostate with a choked cry. The hand formerly around his middle moved to clutch at his own hand, knuckles white with strain. If he could walk after this, it would be a miracle. Never in his wildest fantasies had he expected Castiel to be so _rough_ on him, the sounds of sex echoing in his ears, reverberating throughout the four walls that separated them from the reality outside. He thought their first time – if they had one to _begin_ with, before the _collar_ – would have been softer, more ‘making love’ than getting royally plowed.

Maybe that was the point of the collar. Dean could willingly give up control and let Castiel take over, let Castiel give him what he wanted, _needed_ , without having said a word. Maybe another day they could take it slow, spend their time touching, coming long and slow, wrapped up in each other.

That was for another time. For now, he let Castiel shove his face into the mattress, leaving him to pant and writhe with every push, every grind, until his knees threatened to give out with the force of his orgasm, ripping through him seconds before cum spurted from his cock, soaking through the wet spot even further. Castiel lasted another handful of seconds, cock thickening, spilling hot, deep inside, his own twitching feebly at the thought of coming a second time. He wasn't a teenager anymore; what he wouldn't have given to go a second round.

Dean bit his knuckle as Castiel pulled out, a trickle of cum slipping free as he did; he would never get used to that feeling. “You’re a mess, Dean,” he said, humorous, before laving his tongue over his puffy hole, licking him clean of the cum that dribbled free. “You can speak.”

“Thank _God_.” Dean sighed into the sheets before rolling onto his back, grimacing; in his post-orgasmic state, he somehow lost the logistics of moving _away_ from where he just came. “Hope you’re gonna clean that up.”

“In time.” Castiel moved up to kiss him, softly at first, slipping off the blindfold as he did. Dean opened to him more than willingly, moaning at the taste of cum on his tongue. They broke away a short time after, panting, foreheads touching. “It looks good on you,” the Angel commented. He tugged at the collar, the leather shifting against sweat-sheened skin. Dean swallowed under the scrutiny. “Do you like it?”

Castiel’s face bore a sense of concern at the question; Dean kissed it off him. “Love it,” he said, barely able to contain his smile. “Didn’t know you’d be down for this, Cas. Shoulda done this a long time ago.”

“Would you like to do this again?” Dean nodded his reply, eyes closing; he could fall asleep given the chance. Hopefully Castiel would clean him up before then. “With or without the collar?”

“Depends,” Dean muttered. Castiel stroked a hand down his flank, kissing along his neckline, sucking a mark at the bolt of his jaw. “What’re you gonna do to me next time I wear it?”

Castiel smirked. “You’ll see.”

**Author's Note:**

> Also known as "the thing I wanted to do in 'Sweetest Taboo' but didn't because I forgot."  
> Also also known as the reason why Sam bought some noise canceling headphones the next morning.
> 
> Title is from the R.E.M. song, "Star Me Kitten"
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/loversantiquity).


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